The Darkest Hour Before Dawn
by Acherubis
Summary: Anders wakes after a nightmare and someone helps him coping with it. Anders' PoV.


**Disclaimer: **The usual. I don't own anything and I don't make money off of this. It is for entertainment only.

**Author's Note: **This little piece was inspired by a conversation I had with a fellow member of the Dragon Age Writer's Corner Forum. The idea was suddenly there and it wouldn't leave me alone anymore. I just had to do this.

To K.: I know it is not perfect, I still have a long way to go but it comes from the heart. Thank you!

**The Darkest Hour Before Dawn**

A scream splits the silence of the room, loud and filled with horror.

I wake from that scream, finding myself sitting in bed, heart racing.

My breath comes in short gasps and I am trembling; my stomach is tied into knots of fear and confusion and it takes a long, agonizing moment to realize that the scream that woke me up was my own.

A cool, gentle hand touches my naked arm and I instinctively flinch at the contact, shying away. The hand remains hovering in mid-air, not trying to touch again but also not going away.

I try to take a deep breath but that's not possible, not just yet. I force my eyes away from that hand, following the white line that is an arm with my gaze, then further up until I can see the pale oval of a woman's face. I know that face but I have a hard time fighting the fear that claws at my heart and I need longer than I should to recognize it as my lover's face. I can't make out any expression, only glinting eyes in the darkness, yet I know what I would see if I could. Worry, mixed with compassion.

She can by now tell the difference between the nightmares caused by the taint and the ones that _really_ scare me. The ones where I am in solitary again. The ones that force me to relive the torture, the despair and the madness.

Tonight it is one of _those_. I can still taste the blood on my tongue, hear the crack of the whip. My fingers still tingle with the impression of cold, wet stone beneath my hands and she knows it. That's why she just watches and does not try to comfort me. I can tell that she wants to reach out again but she does not do that, either, because she knows I can't stand it right now. She knows it hurts.

Everything hurts. Thinking. Feeling. Breathing. Especially breathing. It feels like I try to breathe underwater. Every little bit of air I force into my lungs is an effort that almost exceeds my limits. The world is spinning. The walls are too close. Panic is tearing at my every being.

I don't feel as if any time has passed at all when she suddenly stands in front of me, fully dressed and holding out a shirt for me to take. She doesn't say a word, just waits for me to comply to her unspoken request to follow her. I don't know what she is up to but no matter what it is, it will certainly be better than staying here, waiting for the walls and the panic to crush me.

Fumbling the buttons of the shirt through their holes is an effort. My fingers are still clammy and trembling and the blighted little things slip me time and again.

That I am not able to perform even that simple task almost makes me cry out in frustration. I feel like driving my fist into something but before I can act on the impulse she is there, reaching up and, still careful not to touch, sliding button after button into place. There is a notion that suggests I should protest but I don't. I let her do it because she understands. She has her own nightmares to deal with.

When she's done she grabs two blankets from a chair, then turns for the door and I follow her out into the hallway. Her bare feet make soft tapping noises on the stone floor as she leads the way. I only see her shadow in front of me and then, without a warning, even that shadow is gone. As is the pit-pat sound of her feet.

I freeze in mid-step. Where did she go? The hallway stretches on and on without any other corridor branching off. Panic makes my knees turn into jelly. The darkness is oppressive. The silence is _deafening _and I can't do anything about it. I can't scream. I can't move.

And then she is there again. I know only a few seconds have passed but it feels like eternity. I breathe a sigh of relief and with the ebbing panic I can now see where she has gone. There is a secret doorway in the wall. I feel the cold touch of fresh air on my damp skin although I can't see where it is coming from.

She takes a step towards the hidden entrance and looks at me. I know what that means. She wants me to follow her into that dark, gaping hole in the wall.

I hesitate, swallowing hard. My heart beats wildly in my chest. I can't. I can't go in there. My eyes search hers, begging her not to ask that of me.

She smiles. I can't see it but I _feel_ it.

She stretches out her hand.

_Trust me._

I can't. I don't even trust myself.

But she thinks I can. So much faith. How can she have so much faith in me?

Do I have the courage to prove her wrong?

I take her hand and hold my breath as she leads me into the darkness. My fingers squash hers in a death grip, my eyes are tightly shut but before my panic can overwhelm me we are already out of the short tunnel and in the open. She lets go of my hand immediately and steps away.

A chilly breeze catches in my hair and clothes and makes me shiver but it feels good. I revel in it because it means I am not caged in a too small room anymore. I allow my lungs to release the breath I have been holding and take in a greedy gulp of crisp, clean air. It smells of snow and earth and rock and that feels even better.

I stand like that for a long while, just breathing. In and out. In and out.

The panic slowly ebbs away. The sweat dries on my skin. I am still trembling but it is not from fear anymore but from the chilling cold.

In and out. In and out.

I open my eyes again. The darkness is almost as intense as it is inside but it does not scare me just as much now that I can breathe again, that I can hear the wind rustling in nearby trees and see something else than a gray stone wall.

I am standing on a rocky backlog somewhere halfway up the fortress walls. It is not very big, maybe six or seven feet in diameter, surrounded by sturdy bushes and a single tree on the outer edge. To my right, a steep flight of stairs leads downwards. The passage we have taken must be an escape route of sorts. My lips twitch in wry amusement when I notice the irony in that.

A blanket is wrapped around my shoulders from behind and I become aware again that I am not alone out here. I turn my head but she only briefly meets my eyes before she huddles under her own blanket and takes a seat on the stony ground with her back against the wall. She doesn't want to interrupt and I am grateful for it.

My eyes linger on her as she sits there, eyes closed, face tilted up towards the wind, all patience and contentment despite the cold. She will wait until I am ready to go back inside, no matter how long it will take and I can't help but wonder why.

There is a short moment when I am honest enough with myself to admit that I already know the answer to that question. I know it because I would to the same for her. But the moment passes and I turn away. It does not matter if I know or not because I will never tell her.

Those thoughts threaten to shake my barely re-established composure, making me feel uncomfortable and vulnerable again and I force myself to concentrate on my surroundings instead.

I did not know this place existed but it is beautiful even now that winter is fast approaching; like an old lady who holds herself with dignity and grace. You can tell that she has been quite a sight in her youth because her beauty still shines through despite her age. I imagine how that spot will look in spring, when the bushes are green and the tree is in full bloom. I can almost smell the scent of its blossoms and see the birds nesting in the thick branches.

I decide that I will come back here when the new season arrives and that I will take her with me. Without her I would have never known such a place existed. I want her to see for real what I can already see in my mind.

My gaze drifts back to her and I feel the sudden need to have her close, so I cross the distance between us and settle down next to her. Her eyes open and she smiles at me. I am not ready to touch yet but I am comfortable enough to return the smile, knowing that it is enough for her.

We sit in companionable silence for a very long time, watching the darkness fade to gray and the gray giving way to blue and orange and yellow and red. And when the first rays of the early morning sun finally break the horizon, I slip my hand into hers and squeeze it lightly in a silent thank you that means so much more than she will ever know.


End file.
